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by The Buttery Squirrel
Summary: This is set in the postWar of Souls period, but before the Dark Disciple trilogy begins. It doesn't really involve the centralplot characters of other authors. . . although an encounter may occur. :ninja:
1. Prologue

**INFO: These are my own characters. However, I've set this in the DragonLance world. I also plan to make this into an actual book someday. And maybe even submit it to Wizards of the Coast. But for now, I've gotta start out small, right? This is only half of the prologue, and I'm not sure how to edit the other half in when I type it. . . So it may appear as a new chapter instea. x3****  
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**Prologue**

A cardinal's call rang out deep within the Kagonesti forests, echoing through the green branches. A fox trotted back into its den after a long day spent hunting and foraging. The falling sun threw sleep into the forest, the night birds launching their lullaby ballads.

A wooden arrow zipped through the leaves, striking squarely the game it sought. The doe fell, bleeding profusely from the penetration. A small, yet muscular body dodged out from behind an oak tree, nimbly making its way toward the fallen doe.

"My brother Brownhawk, this is not a good thing you do," a voice called. "You should not have slain the doe here. Mother Chislev does not like it."

Brownhawk turned to face his bronze haired sister. "Dear Whisperwind, Mother Chislev understands, I am sure. Elves must eat sometime, and everything must eventually die. The Green Lady knows I kill for food, not sport."

Brownhawk's chocolate eyes moved from his sister to the deer again. He began to extract the arrow from the carcass, and then cleaned the wound. As he began to cut away the flesh, Whisperwind entered the small clearing.

"I assume this is where we camp tonight, brother?" she asked.

"Yes, sister, this is where we camp tonight," he replied. "If you would gather kindling for a fire?"

"Yes, I will. But it will not be a large fire, for Chislev will not appreciate it."

"I would never dream of it, dear Whisperwind."

As the female elf began to play a semblance of pick-up sticks with herself, she noticed a set of tracks in the moist dirt under a small branch. They were from a small animal, but Whisperwind could not identify it. Calling her twin brother, she asked him to tell her what left the paw prints.

"Simply a raccoon, Whisper. What did you think it was?" he asked, amused by her inquiry. For being a druid, she sure doesn't know how to identify animal tracks, Brownhawk thought.

"Well, brother, I honestly thought it might have been a wolf, or the like. Ever since Lana died . . . it's all I can think about," Whisperwind said mournfully. "I miss her . . ."

Brownhawk's acute elven ears picked up all of what his sister said. "That is why we are here, is it not?"

"Yes, I suppose you are right. No, I don't suppose, for you are correct." Whisperwind's voice sounded pained. When Lana died, Whisper was grief-stricken for days. He wolven friend was only going to greet the boy, when his father fired an arrow into the wolf's body.

Lana cried out in agony, her blood spattering the small elf child. Whisperwind heard the howl, and rushed to Lana's side. The boy's father then realized his mistake, and was horrified. He'd shot a druid's wolf.

The father sped to attempt to heal Lana, to aid Whisperwind, but to no avail. Whisperwind's spells couldn't bring back the dead, and neither could the father, even with Mishakal's blessing.

The father apologized immensely, offering gifts in compensation. Whisperwind would have none of them, but accepted his apologies, if only because he though he was acting in the best interests of his son.

The only thing Whisperwind had the father do was help her give Lana a proper burial, under the wolf's favorite maple tree.

Many of the villagers offered condolences and sympathy. Whisperwind was numb to it all, but Brownhawk did his best to act on her behalf. They would stand each day at the grave, Brownhawk with his arm around Whisperwind, holding her close, Whisperwind staring blankly at her former companion's resting place.

Seven days later, Whisperwind had a dream in which a wolf appeared, telling her to seek a shrine. It told her to look to the east, further into the forest's heart. So, believing this to be sent from Chislev, Whisperwind set out with her brother the next day, to seek the ancient, forested shrine. Brownhawk went for his sister, and she went for herself, Lana, and the goddess Chislev, the Green Lady.

Now they were in the second night, and each could feel they were getting closer.


	2. Prologue: Part Two

Tamlin Hastefoot dashed down the central stairs of the Citadel of Light, trailed closely by his teacher, Lorelei Aystere. The kender skipped over the last two steps, landing gracefully on the lawn. He kept running, but then tripped over a rock not five feet from the bottom of the stairwell, spilling his pouches on the grass.

"Tamlin Hastefoot!" Lorelei shouted, only halfway to the bottom. "What do you think you're doing, running off with those spell components? You give them back right now!"

"Miss Lorelei, I have no idea what you're talking about! You said to use whatever I needed for the spell, so I decided to use these," the kender said, scooping miscellaneous items back into his pouches. "I was simply doing what you told me, and then you got all angry!"

"I never-" Lorelei stopped. "Well, I guess I did ell you to use what you need . . ." she said, more to herself than the kender. "But you don't need those! All you need is a little piece of rabbit fur! Why'd you grab the sulfur, guano, pearls and twigs? You're not ready to cast anything that utilizes those components yet!" the mage finally said, out of breath and exasperated.

Tamlin's green eyes dodged back and forth between the spilled components, his own belongings, and his master's searching blue eyes. The kender wondered what she was looking for, when her eyes came to rest on nothingness.

Lorelei's pale blue eyes grew sad, and her red lower lip quivered. Her cheeks, rosy and cold from the chill winds, puffed out as she exhaled, her breath steaming out. She closed her eyes softly and slowly, and finally convinced herself to look at her student.

"Tamlin," she said, her voice wavering slightly, "I've put it off for far too long. I haven't told you yet, because I didn't want you to worry about me."

The kender's eyes shifted slowly from his pouches to his teacher. The green orbs grew wide in anticipation of what might come next.

"What's wrong, Miss Lorelei? Are you sick? You know, I bet it's the food. The cook doesn't look very nice, and he always stares at me like I did something wrong. And there was this one time I swear I saw him throw a rat into the soup pot. You didn't eat it that day, did you? That's probably why you don't feel very well right now." Tamlin beamed after his brilliant deduction.

At the mage's confused look, Tamlin figured it wasn't the food. "Oh, it's not the food?" he piped. "Was it the water, then? Maybe the well's dejected- I mean, injected- no, infected. Yes. Infected. Maybe it's got some disease in it. Oh, I hope it's not the plague. That would be absolutely terrible! Although I wonder what it feels like, having the plague doesn't seem very fun."

A glistening droplet plummeted from the mage's eye, and a small, quivering mesh of laughter and a sigh escaped her parted lips. Oh, how Lorelei would miss her dear friend.

"Tamlin, dear, I'm not ill at all. I've . . . got something worse to tell you."

The kender noted the serious tone of her voice, and commanded his tongue to be serious. But being a kender, that command was easily forgotten.

"Tamlin, I'm . . . I'm going to be going away for a while."

"Away? Where?"

"Well, I've been invited to Palanthas for the Spring Dawning festival this year."

"Oh, how fun! I've never been to a Spring Dawning festival before! I can't wait to go! When do we leave?"

"Tamlin, this is the worst part. You can't come with me." Lorelei's eyes leaked tears like a faucet, and her statement smacked Tamlin like a brick in the face.

"But . . . but . . . Who's going to teach me magic? Surely not the cook!"

Tamlin, there comes a time in all lives when one must learn to teach themselves. Yours is now. I'm leaving copies of all my spells so you can help protect the Citadel."

"Really?" Tamlin's chestnut hair bounced with his face, and he brushed it away. "Which ones?"

"All of them. You're ready enough."

The two spent the remainder of the day together, reminiscing the past few years.

In the predawn, Lorelei left with others to Palanthas.

Tamlin was nowhere to be seen at breakfast.


End file.
